20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers


Invisible

The well runs dry and, parched with fear,
I agonize that I, myself, may shrivel up,
run dry of heart-felt words, that in the end,
the new will once again be old, dwindling
on the page where the worn out and overused
go to seek their final solace, exhausted
from their time of service to the higher cause
of originating expressions of light,
inspiration, and heart-pouring sentiment,
the depth of inner being
spilled forth on public pages

I write my words for you,
my life laid platter-bare,
but what if, after all the words dry up,
there’s nothing there?  What if
I really was invisible?

©SpiritLed 2014


3 Comments

When Silence Ends

When, as a child, did you play happily
by the stream, and come singing home,
passionately sharing your adventures,
only for the beloveds to tell you, “Quiet!”

And when, in your classes, did you
confidently speak your truth, answer
their questions, paint your construction
paper masterpiece,  and the trusteds told you,
“It’s not good enough.”

And when did you feel the whisper of spirit
in your soul, gently guiding you on your way,
and you shared, and they laughed?

And when did you stop listening, painting, writing, speaking, trusting? 

And when will you decide that the darkness has
lasted too long, that the  passion of a new day
can no longer wait, lest  you tear free from your
own skin where you’ve been confined all these years?

That stumbling across stones and briars,
feet cut and bleeding, is preferable to the safe
and righteous path, where no pain, in fact
nothing at all, makes cuts into your soul?

When will you decide that fear of words
without real meaning will no longer be the
prison walls that demand freedom of the captor?

And when will you stoke the flames, when will you once
again tend to the spark, blow the breath of life into
the still-smoldering ashes, collect the branches and
twigs that have fallen in your path, burn them on
your altar, and fuel the dawning of reclaimed light?

© SpiritLed 2014


2 Comments

Fear To Silence

Terrified of losing you

I feel alone,

The words

No longer enough,

I don’t believe,

Can’t understand why.

Feels like you’re a million miles away

Even when you’re right here.

Don’t know where to start

A conversation

Don’t know what to say.

Afraid of pushing you away

Afraid of making a mistake

Ruining it all.

If I’m afraid to talk

Then really what’s the point?

And I still don’t know where to start,

So I’m silent,

Alone

With my fear,

My sadness and longing to feel

The love you say you feel.


Rescued at Last

I felt chapped and burned all over, though the clouds were dark and threatening that cold winter day.

He ran down from the stunted trees, to the dock, where I waited in the boat as it rocked in the shallows of the sound. There on the the boat, he kissed my cheek. “You’re alive!” he cried out. As the schooner slipped below the waves, I grasped his hand and cried. I remember the horror of that day, not because of the warmth of the land, or the lovely clusters of palms, but because of the fierceness of the burning sands.


1 Comment

Dream Chaser

I think about death a lot.

About my son, my mom, my neighbor.

I think about how easy it would be

to not deal with all this crap any more.

As I sit , trying to catch up on emails,

my heart starts to pound, I feel sick, shaking.

I wonder if the death angel has come for me.

It scares me more than I thought it would.

It lasted a long time, sweating, panting.

I miss my son and mom and others.

I wonder where I’d be if I hadn’t stayed here.

I wonder why I had to stay here when my son left.

And I see the dream chaser I made

For my grand kids today and think, “Maybe I know.”

 

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